Reflections
by Queen of Cups
Summary: Angel travels home to confront the ghosts of his past


**Disclaimer:** Joss is the Master of the Universe. He owns everything except the stuff he doesn't. I am but a lowly worm. Wriggle wriggle 

**Acknowledgements****:** Thanks to Roxanne and Zigi for beta and feedback. Love you guys 

**Apologies:** I apologise unreservedly to any Irish person who reads this and wants to kill me. I have tried my hardest to avoid stereotypes and caricatures. If any slipped in, I'm sorry. 

**Reflections**

Angel snapped his book shut and closed his eyes. Dawn had been and gone, and it was time to sleep, yet he was strangely wakeful. The silence around the hotel was eerie, but eerie had long been a way of life for Angel, so he dismissed that as a possible cause for his discomfort. He stretched and rubbed the back of his neck. He had long ago become used to the sensation of being watched. It was part of his existence. He assumed that it was the Powers observing him, monitoring his progress, and yet - somehow the feeling was _older_ than his association with them. 

Who knew? Maybe they had singled him out long before he was aware of them. Maybe they had somehow _arranged_ for him to become ensouled. You really couldn't guess at their methods or reasons. You'd go mad trying. 

"Rest," he said aloud, "and the answers will come". Almost without realising, Angel had allowed this sentence to slip out in his original brogue. The phrase had been a favourite of his father's, whenever his mind had been troubled. 

Thinking of his father, Angel retired to his bedroom. When sleep finally took him, his dreams were troubling and filled with ghosts. 

Cordelia ran through the morning paper with a practised eye. Look for the strange stuff, then at the gossip column, then before you know it, it's lunchtime. She was contemplating eating a third doughnut, when Angel descended the main staircase, scowling. Cordelia looked up as he passed her. She grimaced. "God, you look like the walking dead - er" she opined "didn't you sleep at all?" 

Angel rubbed his hand through his already tousled hair and flexed his neck. "Not much. Anything I should hear about in the paper today?" He questioned, deflecting Cordelia's concerns. 

"You want to know about Gwyneth Paltrow's love life?" 

"I'll pass." 

"Then no, there's nothing." 

Disappointed rather than pleased at this respite, Angel headed for the coffee pot. Stimulants never really worked on him, but if he made it strong enough, the bitter taste of the liquid gave him enough of a jolt to blow away any minor cobwebs. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

**Galway, Ireland 1751**

Liam pried open his eyes. His mouth tasted foul and the room appeared to be at an unusual angle. 

He hastened from his bed despite the nausea this afforded him. Forgoing breakfast, he dressed in his riding clothes and claimed his horse from the stable. A swift turn around the surrounding fields would restore his body to its usual state of rude health. 

He returned from his ride some two hours later. He had taken his horse far from the small town, away from his father's lands to the edge of the marshes. He hadn't dared go in. Even the pete-cutters occasionally lost their bearings there. Some never returned. It was rumoured that witches and beasts beyond imagining lived in the mists. 

He dismounted and began to lead his horse back to the stable when he stiffened. His father stood at the stable yard gate, his face a mask of fury. 

"Father, I ... " 

Donal lashed his son viciously across the face with a heavy backhanded blow. 

"You were in the Tavern last night weren't you." This was a statement, not a question. "Drinking and whoring. You shame me, boy." He struck the lad again knocking him down. "Consider this your final warning. If you were more man than stripling I'd horsewhip you." With this last threat uttered, Donal turned from his wayward offspring and marched back to the house. 

Liam rose unsteadily. Glancing around he could see that several farm hands and the stable lad had witnessed his humiliating beating. He feigned nonchalance as he stabled his horse and returned to the house to change. Inside he railed against his father. Yes, he had been to the tavern. He had been passing the previous evening, and as the light from the place had spilled over the darkened streets, the sounds of music and laughter had washed over him and he had felt a strong curiosity. When he went in, a girl grabbed him and pulled him on to a rough bench. She had plied him with ale and pressed her advances on him. He shuddered at the memory. The girl had been none too pretty and had smelled strongly of filth. He resolved not to return there. 

** 

Elizabeth O'Brien smiled at her reflection. Her sixteenth birthday had so far been a great success. She fingered the delicate lace and rustling silks of her dress with awe. The material was imported from France, her mother had told her, and made up by one of the best dressmakers in Dublin. Her heavy red-gold tresses were piled high and threaded with pearls. Tonight, her birthday would have its climax. Her betrothal was to be announced. It was an open secret that she was promised to Liam McBride, but at the party it would be made official. She hugged herself with glee at the prospect. Her Liam. So handsome and strong. Now one-and-twenty, he was a head taller than his father and straight as an arrow. Had they not been promised to one another, Elizabeth felt sure that she would have chosen him anyway. She was thankful to have such a good match, not everyone was so lucky. She thought of her closest friend. Poor Mary, it was no secret that her father had designs to pair her with Fergal O'Shea. His family had lands and connections, but the man himself was thin and stooped with a pronounced adam's apple and a sly smile. Not to mention the fact that he was fully twelve years her senior. To be matched with such a creature must be torture. 

"Come along child," Elizabeth's mother called to her "Our guests will arrive presently and you must be in the parlour to greet them" 

Elizabeth's silk evening slippers made hardly a sound as she tripped lightly to her mother's side. 

She would never dream of keeping Liam waiting. She sighed, knowing that once again, her dreams would be filled with how it was to be once they were married. She could hardly wait. 

************** 

**1753**

Liam leaned heavily on his companion. She giggled and helped him up the last of the stairs. 

"Here you go, young Sir. My little nest, just right for two" 

"Awww, just two?" he whined, "I can pay for more" 

The woman's eyes gleamed hungrily at the sight of his well-filled purse. 

"You may have whatever you wish, my Lordling" she crooned. 

** 

Donal frowned. In the two years since his match was declared, his son had flouted him more and more readily. As firm a hand as he took with his only son, it never seemed enough. He had lost count of the whippings he had given the boy. Each time just seemed to make him stand a little taller, a little prouder. He frowned. His son was a figure of a man that any father would be proud of, and he was. But the boy's behaviour was beyond errant. It was shameful. _God knows I've tried to raise the lad right_. His mother coddled and indulged him shamelessly, and he heeded her flatteries all too much, in Donal's opinion. This latest scandal had cost dear. No longer content with sporting with tavern whores, he had taken the daughter of one of Donal's most trusted employees. The girl's father had been furious and demanded the boy's blood. In the end though, money had sufficed. It always did. 

** 

"Why Mary, whatever can you mean by such talk?" Elizabeth said, outraged. 

"'Tis common knowledge, Beth. Your fiancee is seen often at the tavern and other low places" 

"Common indeed, Mary." sneered Elizabeth, wrinkling her nose. "You should know better than to listen to servant's gossip. No good ever came of it. Lud, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were jealous." 

"Handsome is as handsome does, I say. Your beloved may the face of an angel, but he has the habits of the Devil himself" 

"You presume too much on our friendship, Mary." snapped Elizabeth "I think if you cannot keep a civil tongue you should leave" 

"I will, and gladly. I pity you Beth. You're deceiving no-one with your haughty ways. No, don't rise. I'll see myself out" 

As Elizabeth watched her friend depart, her words echoed in her mind. For all she loved Liam McBride, she knew her friend spoke the truth. She lay her head in her arms and wept bitter tears. 

** 

Leaving the wenches' hovel behind him, Liam walked somewhat unsteadily toward home. He glanced around him. In a darkened and filthy alley, he saw the figure of a woman. _Not just a woman,_ he thought as he approached her, _but a Lady._ She was dressed in the height of fashion, and jewels gleamed at her throat and ears. She looked familiar to him, but he could not place the memory exactly. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

**Los Angeles **

After a week of feeling oddly detached, Angel decided to seek help. As he entered the bar, the Host eyed him archly. 

"Hello again, handsome. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening?" He answered his own question "You feel strange, and you want to know why. Well, you know the rules by now." 

Angel felt his stomach contract with dread. He had faced many horrors in his extended existence, and braved them all, but he would never shed his hatred of performing in this place. It was odd really, Liam had enjoyed singing, but he supposed that Angelus had suppressed that simple pleasure in favour of the more complex joys of the hunt. 

Biting down on his embarrassment, Angel produced a cringe-making rendition of "The Girl from Ipanema" and was rewarded with a flurry of delighted applause from the Host. 

"Tell me honestly," Angel said, once they were seated "do you really need the singing thing or is it just your way of seeing us with our pants down?" 

"Dear boy, thrilling though the thought of you with your pants down is to me," he paused, as if savouring the mental image, "I really do need to break down people's barriers. Yours especially, you're so ..." he searched for the word "...guarded. I like it. It's a challenge." He sipped his cocktail delicately. "Now, you want to know why you feel all not-comfy in your really quite charming shoes at the moment. Truth to tell, I'm not sure. Our friends upstairs don't know, or won't say. All I'm getting is a strong feeling that you should go home." 

"That's it? Go home? No challenges, no riddles?" 

"No, just home. Where is that, by the way?" 

Angel parked his convertible in the lot at the hotel and went inside. Wesley and Cordelia looked up from the TV. 

"How'd it go?" questioned Cordy 

"No good. He doesn't know anything. I had to sing for nothing. He just told me to go home" 

"Well, speaking of going home " 

"Yeah, you go. I'll see you guys in the morning" 

Cordelia picked up her jacket and purse and headed for the door. 

"You coming, Wesley?" 

"In a minute. You go, I'll catch up" 

Wesley looked at Angel questioningly. "Is that all he said? Go home?" 

"Yes. Oh, and he asked where it was, but y'know" 

The Host was often coquettish with Angel, it was just his way. Wesley frowned slightly. 

"Are you sure that's what he meant?" 

"What else?" 

"I ... No, I'm sure you're right. All of this unpleasantness has probably been brought on by the fact that we haven't had a really good case for a while." 

"I sure hope so" 

Angel watched Wesley leave. Then he switched the TV back on for some light relief. A talk show greeted him raucously. He watched with only half an eye as people's lives were laid open and displayed to the world. The audience was filled with dime store psychologists and purveyors of cheap rhetoric. 

"Yeah, uh, maybe you and your husband should get away, uh, y'know, get back in touch with each other kinda touch base if you know what I mean" 

_Rubbish, _thought Angel,_ if it's got to the point that he's going with other men, then it's over. _None of the revelations on the show shocked or surprised him. When you've lived for over two hundred years, you start to hear the same things over again. In matters of sex, he'd seen it all before. Hell, he'd done most of it himself. He changed the channel. 

_Voices and colours. Swirling. Mixing. The Host. You should go home, handsome. Where is that anyway? His father's voice. Go home. Touch base. Go home Liam. Darla's soft caressing tones. Go home Angelus. Go home. He spun around, disoriented. My name is Angel. Do you hear me? ANGEL ...._

"Angel! Wake up" Cordy's voice was shrill with concern. 

"I'm awake, I'm awake. What?" 

"It's 10am. I came in and there you were in front of the TV. You were having a dream, or rather a nightmare. Look at you, all creased and - eww! - sweaty. Go get a shower." Despite his discomfiture, Angel grinned. Cordelia's words were barbed, but her concern was genuine. 

Standing in the shower, Angel's head began to clear. The water was extremely hot and would have been uncomfortable for most people, but it warmed his cold flesh and the chilled blood within. Soothed by the beating water, he hummed a tune softly to himself. It was a song he hadn't heard in many years. A favourite of Liam's, in fact. Towelling himself vigorously, he suddenly realised what the Host had been getting at. "Go home" he had said. He didn't mean just the place where Angel rested his head, he meant _really_ home. Angel pondered for a moment. "Where is that, by the way?". Angelus had had no home. He was a nomad, wandering the world sampling all it's pleasures. Angel had drifted, too. He stayed in a place for a while, until it grew stale, like LA had done the first time, or painful, like Sunnydale ... No, there was only one place that could be called home. Ireland - Liam's birthplace, and that of Angelus. He hadn't been home since he left with Darla, well over two hundred years before. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

**Galway 1753**

"In nominae Padre, Fili, et Spiritus Sancti.." 

Heavy, persistent rain poured from the leaden sky on to the huddled band of mourners. 

Sarah McBride wailed and clung to her husband. Donal stood stoically over his son's grave. He had feared that the boy would come to nothing, but this... Murdered in an alley by a common crook. He scowled. Someone would pay for this. As the priest completed the final rituals for the dead, and the bereaved moved slowly from the graveside, no-one noticed the blonde haired lady who stood beneath the dripping trees, smiling softly. 

Caitlin knocked softly. Silence. She knocked again. Still no response. It had been three days now, and still poor Miss Elizabeth would not rise from her bed. For the first two of those days, her grief had been stormy and vocal. _Keening and wailing like a little banshee, she was, _Caitlin thought_. _But now the girl was silent. Caitlin decided to take a chance on rousing her precious mistress from her bed. She opened the door. The heavy curtains were drawn across the windows, leaving precious little light. Light enough, however, to see the girl's white face and haunted, grief-filled eyes. 

"Will you not please rise and take a little breakfast, Miss?" She asked, timidly. The girl slowly shook her head. "Then at least let me air the room, Miss - Please." Elizabeth slid slowly from her bed and pulled on a thick brocade robe. Clutching it around her, she swayed slightly. Caitlin put out a hand to steady the girl, but she drew away. Slowly she left the room and headed for an unoccupied guest room. Caitlin watched her retreating figure with sadness. _Poor lamb_, she thought, _never even got to give her man her first kiss_. 

Elizabeth sat at the window seat in the empty room and, dry eyed, watched the rain falling steadily past the glass. _Even the heavens weep_. She heard quiet movement in the passage outside the room. Caitlin had summoned help to clean and air her bedroom. Perhaps today she would dress. Maybe even take some air when the rain eased. Approaching her bedroom door, she heard the low bubble of conversation. Peering around the door, she could see Caitlin listening as Niamh, the upstairs maid, gossiped while her practised fingers twitched the bed linens into order. 

"So anyway, they say he had just left Wicker Street when it happened" she was half-whispering now, "Well, we all know what's there, don't we? And them due to be married this very Spring, and all .." She tailed off under Caitlin's stern glare. "Well it's true", she mumbled, "Still, mustn't speak no ill of him. He'll be ten feet under by now, so he will." 

Caitlin cried out in horror as she saw Elizabeth's stricken face at the door. The girl's eyes were wide and filled with tears. She turned and ran down the passage to the main stairs. 

"Miss Elizabeth!" Caitlin called after her "Please..come back" 

Elizabeth ran headlong down the stairs and out of the door. Heedless of her state of undress or the filthy weather, she ran to the stable and grabbed the first saddled horse she could find. She rode wildly, blindly urging her horse to greater and greater speeds, across the fields towards the woods. Caitlin reached the carriageway in time to see her mistresses' fleeing form disappear into the trees. She turned back in to the house, all the while trying to fight down the feeling that she would never see the child again. 

Elizabeth looked around her. She had ridden blindly for hours, until her mount had stumbled and gone lame. The injury was not serious, but the animal could no longer bear her weight in addition to its own so she had left it, knowing that it would find its own way home in time. She had walked for miles, weeping until she had no tears left in her body and she felt weak and faint. She had no idea of where she was and cared less. The rising mists swirled around her, making her shiver. Her bare feet were frozen and caked with mire. Strange noises echoed around her. She slipped, and falling to her knees, saw that she was on the edge of a deep, murky-looking pool. She contemplated throwing herself in. There was no-one around to stop her. 

_Liam, why did you leave me? I had such beautiful dreams for us. I knew you were all too fond of the ale and wenches of the taverns, but it was going to be fine. Once we were married it would all have been different. I know in my heart you would have been a faithful husband as I would have been a loving wife. But now I will never know for sure..._

She knelt, with her beautiful old-gold hair spreading out around her and her forehead touching the sodden earth. Weeping anew, she felt a pain in her heart the like of which she could not ever have imagined. She had loved him so much. People thought she hadn't known about his dalliances. Well, all except Mary. She realised the truth. Elizabeth had heard every word of every scandal Liam had ever incited. She simply did not care. In her trusting heart he was an angel from heaven. Beautiful, strong and most of all _hers._ Let him have his whores and farm-girls. Once they were married he would have had no further need of them. 

A movement behind her made her start up, but when she looked around there was nothing there. 

"Why child, whatever can it be to make you cry so?" 

Elizabeth jumped at the sound of the unexpected voice. Looking up, she saw an old woman standing beside her. She was smiling kindly. Elizabeth began to speak, but the woman pressed her finger to her lips. "Hush child," she said "Come back to my house and warm yourself. You must be frozen." 

Elizabeth stood and followed the old woman across the marshy ground to a ramshackle hut. _How odd_, she thought, _I don't remember seeing this before._

The interior of the hut was surprisingly bright and clean-looking. One corner of the room was hidden from view by gauzy drapes. The rest of the room was spartan, but warm and inviting after the vicious cold of the marsh. Wrapping her frozen body in thick woollen blankets, the old woman listened patiently as Elizabeth poured out her misery and pain. When her story finally reached its end, the crone smiled kindly. 

"My dear child," she crooned "You have fretted needlessly. Come, let me show you." 

The woman crossed to the secluded area of the room. Pulling back the drapes, she revealed a large, oval mirror. Passing her hand across it, the surface of the glass shimmered and an image began to form that was not part of the reflection of the room. Elizabeth started in horror and alarm, but the old woman held her arm. "Do not fear, child. Look into the glass" 

The image was now fully formed. What it showed made Elizabeth's head spin. There in the glass was Liam. Brushing down his clothes, he was speaking to a fair haired lady whom Elizabeth did not recognise. 

"What trickery is this?" She demanded, her voice quavering "This must be the Devil's work" 

"No trickery, no devils, just a window on the world" the woman replied. "I'm afraid your beau is lost to the mortal world, child, but I can arrange it so that you can be together always." The woman noted Elizabeth's terrified eyes "Not in death, girl. You must change, but you need not die." 

Elizabeth stole another look in the mirror. Liam stood, large as life and just as handsome as ever. There was a look of hunger in his face that she didn't recognise, but he was _alive._

"Why can I not just go to him?" She asked 

"Look to the lady," the crone replied "Do you think she would ever allow it?" 

True enough, the lady at Liam's side had laid a proprietary hand on his arm, which he acknowledged with a carnal smile. 

"You said I could be with him always. Show me how." 

"Sit, and look into the glass, child" 

Elizabeth sat timidly before the mirror, which was now innocently reflecting the room. The hag stood behind her. Elizabeth brushed a little of her hair from her eyes and studied the two reflections. The mirror shimmered again, and when the image cleared, Elizabeth gave a gasp of horror. Her hands which had been smooth and white, were now ancient and gnarled. Her reflection in the mirror was unchanged - red-gold hair and alabaster skin - but her body had become that of the old woman. Turning, she found herself looking into her own face. In the mirror they were the same, but in life, their countenances were exchanged. Her scream, when it came, was the harsh cackle of an ancient throat. As she fainted dead away, the laughter that rang in her ears sounded for all the world like her own. 

** 

Liam wiped his mouth, and took one last look at the carnage in his former home. Strange, although the killing had been pleasurable, he took no real satisfaction from his father's death. It was as if it no longer mattered whether his father approved or disapproved. Liam was the one with the power now, and he had only just begun. With Darla at his side, he left the house and began the short journey to the O'Brien residence. _Time to go a-courting_, he thought with an amused smile. 

** 

Caitlin's relief was enormous. Miss Elizabeth was home, and bathing away the mud and grime of the marshes. She seemed in excellent humour considering her earlier behaviour, but then, she was a brave little soul and was probably putting up a front for her parents sake. Once her ablutions were complete, she dressed in a glean gown and began to brush her long hair. Caitlin offered to help her as she had done many times before, but Elizabeth became quite agitated and declined forcefully. 

A commotion downstairs roused Caitlin from her thoughts. Looking down the stairs, she could scarcely believe the evidence of her own eyes. There at the foot of the stairs stood Liam McBride, walking and breathing like nothing had happened. She ran down to greet and question him but when she reached him she stopped, her hand before her mouth, and screamed. His handsome countenance had twisted into a mask of evil that was terrible to behold. Her screams were short-lived as the creature that was once Liam McBride tore open her throat and drank deeply of her blood. Taking the stairs three at a time, he began to search the bedchambers for his fiancee. It took no time at all, really. He entered her room and found her seated at her dressing table brushing her hair. He strode to her side. She looked up, startled. When she saw who was at her side she began to scream. He reached out and, seizing her slender throat in one hand, snapped her neck with terrible ease. 

"Shush, love" he whispered, and lay her dead body down, gently. It must surely have been a trick of the light, he thought, that had made her reflection in the dressing mirror so strange, for he knew that his former betrothed was nothing if not lovely to behold. Turning away, he fled the house with his Sire, leaving the bodies of the O'Brien household to rot where they lay. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

**Dublin - present day**

Setting foot in his native land again made Angel's senses reel. Under the modern sounds and smells lingered the country that had given him birth. As he sat alone in the bar, he was transported through the centuries so that if he closed his eyes, he could almost be back in the village tavern. The music, the laughter, they were the same, it was just the background that had changed. The gentle brogue of the natives made him think of Doyle. He wondered if his little half-demon friend would have enjoyed a trip to his mother land. He smiled a little. No, Doyle probably owed as many bookies in Dublin as he had in LA. He drifted for a while, all the time feeling the pull of whatever it was that had called him home. Now he was here, it was stronger still. He needed to go further. 

Taking possession of his rental car from a disinterested brunette, he decided it would be safest to stick to the small country roads. He bought a map, with a slight feeling of embarrassment. _It's been a while _he reasoned with himself. _I can't expect to know the lay of land, still._

He drove by night, spending his days in the numerous bars and hotels that peppered the route. The closer he got to home, the stronger his feelings of nostalgia became, until it was almost as though his journey had been one through time as well as distance. When he slept, his dreams were filled with voices of the past. 

By the second night, he was in more familiar territory. The ancient castle, old even in his day, stood almost unchanged in the two centuries since he had seen it last. He looked down into the valley that had held his home. The village was still there. Not as he remembered, of course. Progress had made it's mark. The church was still the same, though. He entered the graveyard and sought the most ancient looking stones. There they were. 

The names were almost totally worn away so if you hadn't known them you would never have guessed what they were. 

**_Donal and Sarah McBride _**

A little distance away were some more recognisable names 

**_Joseph and Moira O'Brien _**

**_Elizabeth O'Brien _**and the dates **_1735 - 1753 _**

He stood regarding the greenish stones for some time, lost in the memory of Angelus' first killing spree. As he finally tore himself away, he noticed a broken , overturned stone in the corner of the graveyard that was horribly familiar to him. The inscription had been chipped away rather than eroded, but you could still make out the name 

**_Liam McBride_**

Abruptly, Angel turned on his heel and left the graveyard. 

_______________________________________________________________________________________________ 

**Liverpool, England 1753**

Darla took her lovers arm and descended the gangplank on to the dockside. The journey had been unpleasant, but that was not the fault of the company. Her new childe was so sweet. Everything that she had taken for granted since turning was new and fresh to him, and his excitement and enthusiasm was infectious. He was special. She'd known that he would be as soon as she had seen him in the tavern. She still wasn't sure what had drawn her to Ireland, to that village, or to that inn, but she was grateful for it. One thing that was for certain, the demon with the face of an angel was set to become a legend. 

Liam smiled down at the woman beside him. What a great gift she had given him. Free at last from his cloying mother and oppressive father, he was going to live the way he'd always dreamed. Well_,_ he conceded,perhaps not always. But then, his dreams weren't what they used to be. 

"Hungry, Angelus?" Darla inquired, solicitously. 

"Famished," he replied "Why couldn't we eat on the boat?" 

"Because, my newborn angel, if you eat the crew, who steers the ship?" She laughed gently "It doesn't matter now. There's food aplenty here." 

Revelling in his new-found power, Angelus became as cruel a killer as Darla had ever seen. He took savage joy in courting his victims like lovers, crooning sweet words, hypnotising them like a cobra before striking. Sometimes, the girls would not even notice him feeding, they were so far in his thrall. Not at first, anyway. 

Sometimes Darla was irritated by his pleasure. He noticed and took delight in taunting her with it. He always came home, though. Back to his Mama. She noticed though, that no matter how much honest pleasure he took in the hunt, sometimes, after a particularly brutal act, his dreams would be troubled. On these occasions, he would awake with less of an appetite than usual, and it would take all of Darla's courtesan skill to rouse him. 

** 

**London 1879**

"Must we walk much farther, Daddy?" 

"No Drusilla, my sweet, we're almost there" 

"Good_. _My baby needs to rest_._"Dru indicated the doll clasped in her arms_._ "My baby was naughty, and stayed awake all day. Now she must pay the price for her behaviour" 

Angelus smiled indulgently, but Darla was unamused. "Drusilla, my dear, please remember that we are trying to be inconspicuous. The last thing we need is your rambling drawing attention" 

Dru visibly blanched "Sorry, Grandmother" 

When they settled at their lodgings, Darla decided to go for a brisk walk. It was difficult to conceal her irritation from Angelus. She shook her head. Sometimes he went too far. The girl was trouble, and no good could ever come of it. 

"Grandmother is angry again" said Drusilla. "Her thoughts are all spiky and cross" she made a stabbing gesture with her fingers. 

Angelus frowned. He considered Dru to be his greatest achievement to date. Darla was jealous, and it blinded her to the perfect irony of a vampire with the Sight_._

Drusilla looked at him strangely. She closed her eyes and swayed slightly from side to side. 

"Daddy doesn't want to play today. Daddy thinks he should go home and wait for death to come a-calling" 

Angelus frowned. When he had first met the girl, her gift had been accurate but repressed , her visions coming only in dreams. Now with her insanity had come a blurring of her vision. Her ramblings were vague and rarely comprehensible. 

She crooned softly "Hush little baby don't say a word 

The dream-fairy's whispering 

And you have heard 

If when you wake you can't hurt a fly 

Don't expect your baby 

To tell you why" 

Angelus shrugged his annoyance. His little joke on the world wearied him on occasion. He rang for the maid. He thought if he ate his humour might improve, and of course, it did. 

________________________________________________________________________ 

**Galway **

The tourist centre was closing for the day when Angel arrived. The young proprietress succumbed to a little charm though, and allowed him in to buy a local guide book. 

Leafing through, he found the section he was looking for. 

**_Demons and Spirits_**

_Until the mid-Victorian era, the village was rife with superstition, particularly focused on the events of the mid 1700's when a short but brutal spate of murders in the town was attributed to demons. The two most powerful families in the region were slaughtered in one night. Some surviving witnesses had claimed that the deed was the work of Liam McBride, son of one the families involved. However, his death is now believed to have been the catalyst for a series of revenge killings._[Angel smiled in spite of himself_ - _in a way their theory was more accurate than they'd ever know]_ The McBride family home was burned to the ground shortly after the massacre, but the O'Brien manor house is now open to the public after undergoing a twenty year restoration._

The following morning was dull and overcast. So much so that Angel felt able to risk a daylight venture 

More ghosts.Walking the familiar passages and seeing the newly restoredrooms of the O'Brien house, Angel was transported back to his former life once more. He thought about Beth. Had fate not intervened, they would have married. He had occasionally wondered how it would have been. His conscience pained him. The poor child. He - no, Angelus - had killed her without a second thought. . Now, walking the halls of her home once more, Angel felt closer to her than ever. He entered the room that had been hers. The restorers had done good work, leaving the room almost as he remembered it. Looking through Angelus' eyes he remembered her last moments. Sitting before the mirror. He shook himself. It had been long enough for it not to hurt him still, surely? 

Angel left the house eventually, and wandered out into the waning light. Leaving his car in the newly built lot at gates of the O'Brien house, he went into the village proper. Everything was new there, he reasoned, so there was less chance of his past deeds haunting him. 

He was wrong. Every way he turned something reminded him of his long forgotten boyhood. Walking without seeing, he was lost in his memories. Wicker Street. Still there. Same name. Different class of tenant now, though. He found himself retracing the path to his fathers house. As easily as slipping on an old coat, he fell into step with Liam's old route home. The house may have been gone, but the rolling hills remained unchanged and as his eyes traced the outline of the view he had seen every day for the first 21 years of his life, Angel was overcome by the guilt and pain of remembrance. 

Returning to his hotel at dawn, Angel felt a strange peace. He had needed to acknowledge his past. The deeds he had committed as Angelus had been seeded here in this quiet, folksy corner of the Emerald Isle. Perhaps that was all that had been needed. Laying his head on the crisp linen covered pillow, he slept. 

_Colours. Sounds_. _Voices. Drusilla. The dream fairy says to go home Daddy. Come home, Liam. Come home. I have come home. I'm here. Liam. You must come home. I'm Angel. I keep telling you. I'm ANGEL..._

He woke with a jolt. The elderly hotelier was startled and almost dropped the tray she was carrying. 

"I'm so sorry, young man_. _Ithought you might like some tea. I'll just set it down here, shall I?" She laid the tray on a small side table and scuttled away. 

So, whatever had called him here was still calling. There was obviously something he was missing. The pull of the past was still strong. Angel pulled on his long overcoat and, closing his eyes, tried to visualise where he needed to go. Allowing his instincts to be his guide, he began to walk. 

** 

The marshes were unchanged since the days when Liam had ridden his horse to their outskirts. A heavy mist hung over them and strange birds called one another in plaintive voices. He began to gingerly pick his way through the pools of mud and tufts of grass that made up the terrain. As he advanced, the mists closed behind him, masking his path from the outside world. 

Even Angel's finely honed vampire senses were no use to him once he was a way into the marshland. Disoriented and surrounded by swirling mists, Angel felt like he within his dream. Finally, ahead of him, the mists parted and he could make out the small ramshackle cottage a short distance away. 

He approached warily. As he reached the door, it opened for him and a thin, reedy voice bade him enter. He did so, and took in his surroundings. The interior of the single room was almost bare. Huge cobwebs hung from every corner and the floor was thick with dust. In the corner of the room was an area hung with ancient, tatty drapes. Through their dusty folds, he could make out the silhouette of a figure behind them. He took a step closer. 

"Hello, Liam" came a soft female voice from behind the curtains. "I knew you would come" 

Angel stopped mid-step and peered closer at the shadowy figure who had addressed him. "Who are you" he asked "What do you want with me?" 

"Oh my love, how I have missed you. Your accent is new, but your voice is the same. It still thrills my heart." 

"Who are you?" He repeated in a gentler tone 

"Do you not know me, my love?" She gave a hollow laugh "Of course you don't. It is I, my Liam. Your betrothed. I have been waiting, oh, so long for you to return." She drew back the curtain, keeping her back to him. He could see that her body was hunched and aged. She sat before a huge oval mirror. To his surprise, the image in the mirror was the view from behind him. 

"What do you want?" He questioned, roughly "I know that you're not Beth O'Brien. I witnessed her death with my own eyes" _and dealt it with my own hand_ . 

The figure turned to face him. Her face was hideous to behold, yet somehow familiar. He remembered how he had stood at Beth's side as she brushed her beautiful hair. How he had recoiled at the haggard reflection in the mirror. The image that he saw before him now. 

Could it be? 

"Look to the glass, my love, and you will see me as I am within this shell" she murmured. 

Looking up at the mirror, he saw the hag turn, and in reflection smile at him with Beth's lovely mouth. He gazed in wonder. 

"This has been my only comfort, all these years. I have sat here, watching, since the day you left me. I loved you Liam, and I wanted to love you forever. How could I have know what that truly meant. I said 'always', but I meant 'all my life'. The two are not the same. The torture of these endless days was my reward for my ill-chosen words. All alone, I have watched, unable to hear you, or touch you, or let you know that I was with you. I have watched as everyone I ever knew and loved has died. Generations of people - all gone. I am an abomination before God. My existence is a blasphemy." 

Her agonised words resonated in his own tortured soul. She continued. 

"The only thing I have ever wanted was to be near you, my love. Through the years of your Darkness, although I was afraid, I was with you. When the darkness ended and the pain began, I was there, wishing I could take you in my arms and give you comfort. When you found love again, although it broke my heart to see it, I could not leave you. And when, finally, you found something closer to peace, I stayed and shared your comfort. Now I find that I can no longer live this terrible life. Knowing that you are so far from me. I have been calling for you to help me, my love. I do not have the heart to leave you still, but I know that I must." 

He looked down at her. He remembered that when his pain had been almost too much to bear, he had been soothed by comforting dreams. When his rage had been great and terrible, always a soft presence had remained in his mind and tempered it. He remembered also Dru's "dream-fairy". Was this what she had meant? 

He looked up into the mirror. Reflected there was the delicate, gentle girl he had known so long ago. 

"I am so sorry. I never would have wanted this for you. I know we would have had a fine life together. I always loved you, Beth." 

She began to weep "Help me, my love, my Liam" she whispered 

"I'm Angel now" he responded softly, holding her gently and pressing his cold lips to her forehead in a gesture of vain comfort. 

Despite her tears she smiled slightly "You always were." 

Looking in the mirror again, Angel could see her reflection still, but next to her, a face he had not seen in many years. His own. Seeing through her eyes, the image was softened by love. As he watched, it began to fade, then was gone. 

He laid her body down with infinite tenderness. Gently wiping the still-warm tears from her twisted face, he closed her eyes. 

"Shush, love" Angelus' words once, now they were hoarse with emotion and cracked with pain. 

He closed the door. Within the cottage, Elizabeth's body lay covered with Angel's long, dark overcoat. Sprinkled over it like tiny diamonds were fragments of the broken mirror, reflecting the flickering light of the flames that danced in the room. 

Walking from the marsh toward the village, Angel was surrounded by mist. In amongst it, the thicker tendrils of smoke mingled. He did not turn back. 

** 

The rector of St Michael's church surveyed the graveyard in confusion. It was the strangest act of vandalism he had ever seen. Someone had moved the old broken stone from the corner and laid it next to another ancient monument near the centre. Also laid there was a single fresh rose. The moss had been cleaned from the stone and the legend thereon had been recarved. 

**_ Elizabeth O'Brien 1735 - 1753_** **_2001_**

**_ Beloved _**

** 

Angel closed his eyes. The drone of the aeroplane's engines soothed him. He slept, and on this occasion, his sleep was blessedly silent. 

_~end_


End file.
